Page 52 of Not Another Yesterday
I cock an unimpressed eyebrow at her. “Fine, but you tried to talk to my best friend, and I have no doubt you would have hunted Cat down eventually. She just got to you first.”
Rashana gives me a sheepish shrug. “Fair.”
I consider her for a moment. I don’t know if it’s her calmer, less intrusive approach today, or the fact that those closest to me know about her now, but those brick walls that sprang up from the ground the first few times she talked to me are slower to assemble themselves today.
I exhale deeply. “I assume you’re not here to sit and enjoy a cup of coffee.” I nod at her empty hands. “You trying to get me to talk about my life growing up?”
She shrugs. “It’s a compelling story.”
There’s that word again—compelling. Zack used it, too. And yeah, maybe it is. There are plenty of people who don’t make it outthe other side, plenty of people who die at the hands of their abusers. But there are just as many people whodolive a life after the violence, some more, some less successfully so. What I have yet to figure out is if those people are truly the lucky ones.
I shrug. “Maybe. But it’s also painful and private. It’s not just a story—it’s my life. It’s… my entire childhood. Seventeen years.” I really want to put this into perspective for her.
Rashana nods. “I’m aware of that. Ronan, I’m not trying to tear open old wounds or retraumatize you. But… I mean… is there any chance at all I could convince you to sit down with me?”
I lean against the back of my chair, forcing my shoulders to relax, then shake my head. “I can appreciate what you’re trying to do. This is obviously an”—I search for the right words but come up short—“interesting story for you. I get it. There’s a reason true crime documentaries do so well. People get invested in other people’s drama. But… look, I’m not trying to be difficult, okay? My refusal to talk to you has nothing to do with you personally.”
She looks at me doubtfully, and I chuckle.
“I’m serious,” I say with a nod. “One of my best friends just asked me if he could do a story about me and I told him no. I’ve known this guy since I was three years old. We went to preschool together. He’s like family and still I told him no.” I’m really trying to soften the blow. “And you know what, I could sit here and explain my reasoning to you again—how my ‘story’ isn’t just a story, that it’s my whole damn life, that it’s painful and that I still have a really hard time talking about it. Maybe I could tell you that I’m sorry for shutting you down like this, but I’m finally learning that I have a right to set boundaries, that I have a right to protect myself. For so long I had no agency over my life, over the things that were done to me. And I’m just getting to a point where I get to saynowithout having to brace for pain. I empathize with you about how this affects your work. I’m sure it sucks, but I don’t feel bad. I’m not sorry for not setting aside my own needs, my peace, soyou can write a story.”
Rashana takes in my words. Then she nods. “I figured you’d say that, but I thought I’d shoot my shot one last time.”
“Consider it shot,” I say, a hint of a smile on my lips.
“There’s nothing I could do to convince you, huh?”
Jeez, relentless.
“You could tell me what you know about my uncle… and what you meant when you talked about my mom’s sister,” I say with a small shrug, careful not to change my facial expression. If there’s anything I’m good at, it’s maintaining a poker face.Thanks, Mom.
Her eyebrows rise hopefully. “And then you’ll talk to me?”
I chuckle quietly. “No, but you have information aboutmyfamily. You dug intomypast. I think it’s only fair that you share.”
She studies me, her eyes bouncing between mine. Then she nods. “Okay. Mind if I sit?” She nods at the chair across the small table from me.
I give her a shrug-nod.
The chair scrapes against the floor when she pulls it back. She takes a seat, shoulders slumped forward.
The low hum of people chatting around me falls away like a curtain.
“Is it bad?” I ask, a definitive, fearful edge to my voice.
“Well, you have to understand that a lot of it is conjecture, you know? Facts, like puzzle pieces, that would need to be pieced together, but…” She hesitates, eyes flicking to mine before dropping to her hands. “It’s… yeah. I think it’s probably not good. I’m sorry, Ronan.”
I nod, warring with myself. I want to know and not know; I’m curious and simultaneously terrified of what I’m about to learn.
Before I can stop her, Rashana dives in. I let her.
By the time she finishes, all I can think is I should’ve walked away. I should’ve never asked her to tell me what she found out. Because now, all I can see when I close my eyes is blood and lineage, rage passed down like inheritance. And in just a few weeks, there will be two newborn babies in my family. Brand-new, innocent lives. And I’msuddenly convinced that I cannot be trusted around them. After all, I’m descended from monsters.
Cat
My eyes flutter open, but the smile that wants to take up residence on my lips at the sight of a sleeping Ronan next to me doesn’t get the chance to blossom. I didn’t hear him come in or feel him slip beneath the covers. And he didn’t wake me the way he usually does—fingers, lips, that slow seduction in the dark. His face is contorted, pained, lines sharp in the shadows. I can tell by his erratic breathing, his tossing and turning, the clamminess of his skin, that he’s in the throes of a night terror.
He's been having them more frequently lately, though I’m not totally sure why. He first told me the nightmares had started up again after his grandmother’s visit in November. But unlike the last flare-up back in August, this time they aren’t tapering off. They’re getting worse.
